


To Love in a Foreign Land

by allipaige



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Dolores Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad, Draco Malfoy is Bad at Feelings, Dumbledore's Army, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Evil Voldemort (Harry Potter), F/M, Gryffindor, Hogwarts, Hufflepuff, Hufflepuff Reader, Ilvermorny, Ilvermorny House - Horned Serpent, Ilvermorny House - Pukwudgie, Ilvermorny House - Thunderbird, Ilvermorny House - Wampus, Kissing, Loss of Parent(s), Magic, Mutual Pining, Pining Draco Malfoy, Ravenclaw, Reader-Insert, Romance, Room of Requirement, Slytherin, Snogging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:39:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27530128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allipaige/pseuds/allipaige
Summary: The fifth year of your magical education is upon you, and you decide to leave Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to take part in the exchange program to Hogwarts. At Ilvermorny, you were the witch of the decade: all four houses wanted you during the sorting ceremony. The expectations piled upon you were almost too much after the death of your father. You seek out the experience of a lifetime at his alma mater, hoping to grow closer to his memory, but the ever-darkening magical world and a certain blonde-haired boy might get in the way of that.
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore & Reader, Draco Malfoy/Hufflepuff!Reader, Draco Malfoy/Original Female Character(s), Draco Malfoy/Reader, Draco Malfoy/You, Fred Weasley & George Weasley & Reader, Ginny Weasley & Reader, Harry Potter & Original Female Character(s), Harry Potter & Reader, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger & Reader, Luna Lovegood & Reader, Neville Longbottom & Reader, Ron Weasley & Reader, golden trio & reader
Comments: 16
Kudos: 43





	1. The Letter

The day had finally come.

It came in the flurry of an owl’s wings, in the nervous vibration of your sweaty palms.

A delicious breakfast had just been served by your mother that sunny summer morning in suburban America, your fourth term at Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry only recently finished. Loud, impatient tapping on the kitchen window glass made you choke on your coffee.

“Mom! Ch-check if it’s from H-Hogwarts!” you managed to cough, pointing frantically at the window. Your mother bolted out of her chair at the kitchen table so you can recover.

She squealed for you, letting the gorgeous but exhausted-looking owl into your kitchen as quickly as she could. It landed in front of you on the table, holding out its leg with what could only be described as relief. Your shaking hands untied the cream-colored envelope from the owl’s ankle, and as soon as you did, it fluttered to the large cage in the corner of the room. Your silver-grey owl, Cinna, hooted indignantly at the unexpected visitor that was gulping from her water bowl.

“Now, Cinna, be nice. He’s had a long journey,” your mother said, wagging her finger. Cinna would have rolled her eyes if she could.

“ _Mom_ ,” you squeaked, “this is it, this has to be it. I’m finally gonna know.”

You’d decided halfway through your fourth year at Ilvermorny that you wanted to take part in the International Wizarding Student Exchange Program, or I.W.S.E.P. It was a decision that you didn’t make lightly – you’d discussed it at length with your teachers and with your mom. You loved Ilvermorny with all of your heart and soul, after all, it was your home. But you also knew that the world was much bigger, that there was so much in the wizarding world that you hadn’t seen and hadn’t experienced. As a newly 15 year-old, you felt somehow ready for things to change.

Of course, you didn’t want _too much_ change, which is why Hogwarts was at the top of your list. Ilvermorny was modeled after it, and you didn’t have to worry about a language barrier. Hogwarts contained four houses, just like your school, and was a large castle in the middle of the mountains, just like yours. You were ready to experience new things and new people, in a new (but somewhat similar) place. You had roots there.

The Headmistress of Ilvermorny, Celestia Pukwould, had one final meeting with all prospective exchange students before the end of term. The day exams ended, you and a small group of upcoming fifth years were invited to her large study. She pressed the importance of upholding your school’s good reputation as you traveled, to be a shining example of what it was to learn magic from America’s impressive magical education system. Only one of your peers was requesting Hogwarts as their first choice too, a quiet girl that you hadn’t spoken to much over the years named Eleanor.

After the other potential exchange students left her office, Headmistress Pukwould requested for you and Eleanor to stay behind for a bit.

“Ladies, I have sent an owl to Professor Dumbledore himself expressing my full confidence in you two,” she had said, standing from her ornate high-back chair that sat in front of her fireplace. She twirled her wand between her long fingers absentmindedly, fixing you and Eleanor with a kind yet serious stare. “You two are some of the brightest witches in your class. I told him so. I have known Albus Dumbledore for many years, and he is by far one of the most talented wizards alive today. You would be very lucky to learn magic at his school.”

You and Eleanor nodded profusely, eyes wide. While Headmistress Pukwould was a kind woman, she was also not to be trifled with, and her word backing your acceptance at Hogwarts held much weight.

“Don’t disappoint me, ladies,” she said, the smile fading from her face. She tapped her wand on her nails once, sighed, then turned back to the fireplace. “Have a wonderful summer. Owls containing your acceptance or rejection should arrive to your homes within the next few weeks.” Her tone was final. You were dismissed.

You flashed back to your bright kitchen, took a deep breath and let it back out in a shaking sigh. Your fingers gently traced the refined emerald green writing. You flipped the envelope over and touched the blood-red wax seal, the crest of Hogwarts. Your hands paused.

“Mom, what if I don’t get in?” You’d spoken your greatest fear aloud.

She smiled at you, almost a little sadly, and came to rest a hand on your shoulder and a kiss on your head. “They’d be idiots not to accept you, Y/N.”

“What do you think Dad would say? If they said no?” you all but whispered, a familiar ache rising in the back of your throat. Your father had attended Hogwarts over two decades ago before he moved to America and met your No-Maj mother.

Your mother wrapped her arms around you from behind, pressing her cheek to yours and rocking you gently.

“He would think they’re idiots, too, honey,” she said, a grin in her voice. Your father loved his alma mater, so to imagine him saying anything negative about the school was enough to make you laugh. But you knew she was right, your father had been your biggest fan.

“I miss him,” you said quietly. Your thumb ran over the wax seal again.

“I know, baby. I do too,” she whispered, kissing your cheek. “But he’d be so proud of you, no matter what that letter says. Okay?”

You nodded. You’d lost your father two years ago, but the wound still felt fresh most days. You’d be lying if you said that going to Hogwarts wasn’t an attempt to feel him again, in some form or fashion.

“Here goes nothing,” you breathed, slipping your finger underneath the sturdy paper and ripping it away from the seal. Your heart pounded in your ears like a bass drum as you pulled out the parchment, catching a glimpse of the neat scroll in the same dark green ink. Your mother’s hands tightened on your shoulders.

> _Dear Miss Y/N Y/L/N,_
> 
> _We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._
> 
> _All students accepted to our institution through the I.W.S.E.P. (International Wizarding Student Exchange Program) will be required to travel via portkey on the evening of 29 July. Upon arrival to London, arrangements will be made for you to stay in the Leaky Cauldron before gathering your supplies on 30 July. A representative from the school will assist you in procuring the necessary books and equipment for term, beginning 1 September. You will be expected to arrive at King’s Cross Station, Platform 9 ¾, no later than 09:00 AM on 31 July. Bring all necessary luggage and equipment._
> 
> _You will find an enclosed list of all required literature and materials for Year Five._
> 
> _We will expect an owl containing your confirmation no later than 20 July. We are honored to invite you into our sacred halls of magical learning._
> 
> _Yours Sincerely,_
> 
> _Minerva McGonagall_
> 
> _Deputy Headmistress_

You lowered the letter, disbelief coursing through your veins. It was real, truly real. You were now officially a Hogwarts student.

After at least a solid 20 minutes of dancing around the kitchen with your mother, you scribbled a quick confirmation and laid it by the feet of the tired Hogwarts owl.

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to leave for another few days,” you said, answering the owl’s accusatory glare. He hooted ruefully and tucked his head underneath his large wing, ignoring Cinna’s still wary stare.

Your mother excused herself from the kitchen shortly after, attempting and failing to hide the proud tears in her eyes. You hugged the Hogwarts letter to your chest, breathing in the scent of the still stiff parchment. Slowly, you walked out to the empty living room and paced to the fireplace mantle that contained family portraits of all shapes and sizes, some moving in their frames and others standing still.

With tears tickling the corner of your eyes, you picked up your favorite picture of you and your dad. You were six years old, missing a tooth and laughing hysterically, while your father conjured glowing butterflies that danced around your head. The glow of his happy smile outshined those butterflies any day, you thought. You gently stroked his smiling face.

“Well, it’s official, Dad,” you whispered, a single tear sliding down your cheek. “I’m going to Hogwarts.”

* * *

That summer passed more quickly than you would have ever expected. Your friends from Ilvermorny came to visit as often as possible, taking advantage of every moment they could grab with you before you left for an entire year. Many days were spent wandering nearby cities and towns, No-Maj and magical alike, with your school friends. You ate as many cliché American meals as you could and soaked up every drop of sunshine possible by the pool. You always looked better with a bit of a tan, and you doubted that you’d be getting much strong sun at Hogwarts.

“So, what House do you think you’ll be sorted into?” Eleanor asked you one afternoon. You’d invited her to stay a week with you and your mother in early July. You two would be the only Americans at Hogwarts in the upcoming year, and you both thought that building a friendship with one another would be nothing but beneficial. Being so far from home, you needed to have each other’s backs.

You were both sitting on the edge of the pool, drinking fresh lemonade and dangling your feet in the water. You took a long sip through your brightly colored straw.

“Good question,” you said, staring at the rippling blue water in thought. “I’ve heard rumors of what each house represents, but how true is it really? I mean, we know at Ilvermorny that more than one House can pick you, and that you can make the decision for yourself. Do you ever wonder if people pick the right one? Think it’s like that at Hogwarts?”

“I don’t know,” Eleanor said quietly. She seemed a little nervous at the thought. “What if we don’t get sorted at all? What if we’re too old?”

“I mean, surely that wouldn’t happen,” you tried to say confidently. “They wouldn’t subject us to public sorting if there was a chance of us getting rejected, right? Talk about embarrassing.”

“I’m sure _you’ll_ get sorted,” she said with an admiring tone. “Everyone remembers what happened when you stepped up to the Knot on our first day.”

You remembered that day with a strange and heady combination of pride and trepidation. When you stepped up to the large Gordian Knot engraved into the shining marble floor of the circular sorting chamber, everything changed for you. For the first time in over a decade, all four large wooden carvings came to life, and the room went dead silent. You’d never felt so many eyes on you, boring into the back of your skull, wondering what made you so special and what House you would choose.

The gem set into the head of the Horned Serpent glowed, the Thunderbird beat its large wings, the Wampus roared and the Pukwudgie raised its arrow into the air. The carvings themselves seemed to stare a hole through you.

The four Ilvermorny Houses have been described as each representing a different part of the human being; Horned Serpent represents the mind and favors scholars; Wampus represents the body and favors warriors; Thunderbird represents the soul and favors adventurers; Pukwudgie represents the heart and favors healers.

You were overwhelmed in every sense of the word. At the small and awkward age of 11, you truly didn’t feel that well-rounded. You were certain that, somehow, these magical carvings had made a mistake.

“What made you choose Thunderbird, by the way?” Eleanor asked curiously, breaking you from your reverie.

“Honestly… I’m not totally sure,” you shrugged bashfully. Talking about this always made you uncomfortable. “Thunderbird is supposed to represent the soul, right? I guess I think that everything is rooted in the soul. We wouldn’t be human without them.”

Eleanor had been chosen by Horned Serpent, but nodded in agreement. “I guess that makes sense. I don’t know what I would have done if I were you.” She laughed a bit uneasily. “At least my choice was easy – I didn’t have one.”

In many ways, you found yourself wishing that only one carving had chosen you. Sure, it’s a bit less flattering, but much less stressful. The pressure of being _that_ student, the once-in-a-decade student that was supposed to accomplish amazing things, was almost suffocating. As a child, you had a mountain of expectations piled on top of you from the moment those four carvings came to life. You couldn’t make a mistake.

In your second year, when your father died, so many of those expectations crushed you in a way that they never had before. His death weighed on you more than anything ever had, and the strength of his support was gone and left you breaking underneath the heavy cinderblocks of watchful eyes. Your grades suffered, and so did your relationships. You shut down.

Only when a year passed after your father’s death did you begin to find yourself again. With the help of your understanding teachers and a loving group of friends, you were able to establish a better academic standing within Ilvermorny. Not that anyone held your lapse against you – after all, you were a 12 year-old that had lost a parent. But you were still _that_ kid, the one that all four Houses wanted, and you’d proven that you were far from perfect.

“What House do you _want_ to be in at Hogwarts?” you asked Eleanor. She smiled, quiet in thought as she threw her brown hair into a messy ponytail.

“Really, I’d be happy with anything. But I’ve heard Ravenclaw is similar to Horned Serpent, academically focused and stuff.” She took a gulp of cold lemonade and wiped the sweat from her forehead. “What about you?”

“My dad was a Hufflepuff, so that would be nice I guess. I don’t know. Let’s just hope the Sorting Hat doesn’t explode,” you joked, setting aside your now empty glass. With that, you jumped into the chilly crystal water, letting it soothe your hot skin. Eleanor quickly followed.

You enjoyed the last inklings of summer vacation together before your new adventure began. You talked about missing friends and family, what Hogwarts would be like, whether or not you liked hot tea and what classes you would be taking. True to teen girl form, you were both excited to meet cute guys with foreign accents. And with a mix of thrill and nerves, you both realized that _you two_ would be the foreign ones to them, and hoped that it would play in your favor.

“I wonder if British guys will think American girls are hot?” you asked her after the sun went down. You’d both climbed out of the pool at this point, your sun-kissed skin beginning to prune.

Eleanor laughed. “Geez, I hope so. Could you imagine getting a handsome British boyfriend? Talk about the adventure of a lifetime.”

You couldn’t deny that the thought of kissing a handsome boy with an attractive accent at the top of a castle turret excited you, but your mind always went back to connecting with the spirit of your father. Maybe you could feel closer to him there at Hogwarts, and would a boy distract you from getting that closure? You _knew_ a boy would distract you from schoolwork, and you were determined to make such outstanding grades that Professor Dumbledore would have no choice but to write back to your Headmistress. After the academic crash and burn that was your second year, any and all glowing recommendations were not only welcome, but needed.

“It would be fun,” you giggled, wrapping yourself in your pool towel and squeezing the water out of your hair. “But wouldn’t it kinda suck when it’s all said and done? I mean, what if you got close to someone and then you have to leave to come back here?”

“I didn’t say we had to fall in love,” Eleanor shrugged. “I just want a hot piece of British ass.”

You busted out laughing. Eleanor always seemed so quiet at school, but once she got comfortable with you, she really came out of her shell.

“Come on, girls!” your mother called, sticking her head out of the back patio door. “Dinner is ready. I’ve got your salads on the table.”

You both trotted inside, whispering and giggling about the possibility of a grand foreign romance. After a pleasant dinner with your mother, you both went to bed, smelling of chlorine and sunlight.

Eleanor fell asleep before you did. You laid awake for a while, watching the shadows of swaying tree limbs dance across your ceiling. Your mind wandered back to the possibility of finding romance at Hogwarts. You doubted it would happen for you, especially since your priorities were elsewhere, but it wouldn’t be so bad to just dream about it, right?

You drifted into a deep sleep, flashes of colorful magic and the shadow of a boy dancing through your head.


	2. To Britain

The fateful morning of your journey to London arrived in a tizzy of flying clothes and misplaced luggage. You didn’t have to meet at Ilvermorny for your final portkey until that night, but it didn’t stop you and your mother from running around the house like two chickens with their heads cut off. You barely had time to stuff down a sandwich before your mom ran into the kitchen holding another handful of objects that she thought you simply couldn’t live without.

“ _Mom_ , I can’t take my entire room with me!” you laughed.

She sighed. “I wish your father were here. He could cast one of those expandable spell-thingies on your suitcase and we wouldn’t have to worry about all of this.”

“Only two more years and I can cast it myself,” you shrugged. “We’ll just have to pack like you’re used to packing: the non-magical way.”

After much debating and the rearranging of your travel items, the time finally came for you to leave. You soaked in every moment of conversation with your mother in the car, knowing that when it came time to take the portkey to Massachusetts, she couldn’t come with you. You held her hand for the entire hour-long drive. You both held back tears.

The car turned onto a dirt road surrounded by ever-thickening pine trees, and you knew that you were getting close. Your heart began to hammer and your palms began to sweat. The path eventually widened out into a large stretch of bare farmland, an unassuming old Chevy truck parked at the end of the road. This is where your letter from Ilvermorny instructed you to stop.

You spotted Eleanor’s beaming face and that of her parents’ a few feet away from the red, rusty vehicle. They were talking to a portly wizard in sweeping navy robes. She smiled and waved enthusiastically when she spotted you climbing out of your mother’s small Toyota.

“Hey, Y/N!” she grinned, running toward you. “Can you believe it? It’s almost time!”

She circled to the car’s trunk with you and your mom, helping you to haul out your luggage. Her chipper voice carried across the vast, unplowed field, as did the stately deep baritone of the waiting wizard.

Once you all approached the truck, Eleanor’s parents greeted your mother, exchanging pleasantries and anecdotes about how difficult it would be for them not having their daughter home.

“Oh, but we’re so thrilled for her,” Eleanor’s mother gushed, clapping her hands in an almost childlike manner. “We were hoping that she’d take the opportunity as soon as she could to travel.”

“It’s definitely going to be hard not having Y/N home,” your mother said sadly, hugging you to her side one last time. “The house will feel so empty.”

“Ellie told us that your late husband went to Hogwarts?” her father asked gently. “I’m sure this will be such an adventure for Y/N.”

You smiled, quickly wiping away the tears that began to flow with the back of your hand. “I think it will be.”

“Time to say your final goodbyes,” the portly wizard stated, tucking his golden pocket watch back into his robes. “Our portkey will depart in a few minutes.”

He started to walk toward a forlorn-looking scarecrow in the near distance that, if you weren’t mistaken, was beginning to glow. You turned to your tearful mother, her nose already beginning to turn red from the sniffling. Seeing her cry only made your tears flow faster.

“Your dad… he would be _so proud_ of you,” she whispered, her hands resting gently on your cheeks. Her thumbs wiped at your unstopping tears.

“I love you, Momma,” you choked, embracing her with all of your strength. Your tears soaked the chest of her cotton t-shirt.

“I love you so much, baby,” she replied. One of her hands carded through your hair. She pulled away reluctantly at the call of the impatient wizard to ‘mind your time’. She lowered her head and her wet eyes looked directly into yours. “You better send me an owl as _soon_ as you get settled, okay? I need to know that you made it in one piece.”

You jokingly saluted. “Scout’s honor.”

“One minute!” called the man in the navy robes, clapping his hands together in a signal to hurry. You and Eleanor, luggage in tow, sprinted across the remaining ground between the truck and the portkey. The scarecrow was glowing brightly now, almost pulsing.

The man held whatever luggage of yours that he could, huffing with the effort, eyes trained on his pocket watch. You and Eleanor appreciated his help, despite his somewhat cold and business-like manner. You all reached out a finger to touch the portkey.

The effect was instantaneous. The sensation of a rope pulling at your navel jerked you forward, your feet lifted, and you were spinning and spinning in a whirlwind of color and weightlessness. You locked eyes with Eleanor, noticing a green tinge overcoming her face. She’d warned you in the past about her tendency to get portkey sickness.

It was over as quickly as it had begun. With a thud, you and Eleanor landed backside first on soft and grassy ground. The robed wizard floated down to land gracefully on his feet, seemingly unbothered by the whole ordeal. One of Eleanor’s suitcases landed hard enough that it popped open. The two of you were rushing to stuff its contents back inside. Your friend’s face made it very clear that she was still feeling nauseous.

Once Eleanor’s luggage was in order, the two of you stood and brushed yourselves off. You were finally able to take in your surroundings – the towering mountains, the dark green grass, and the looming silhouette of Ilvermorny pressed against the shadowy heavens. The sun had already set in Massachusetts. The towering school blended into the night sky, only the lit windows distinguishing it from the stars that twinkled behind.

“Not gonna lie, I’m going to miss this view,” you admitted, taking a deep breath of the cool mountain air.

“Same,” Eleanor sighed.

You didn’t get to enjoy the view for long. The stout wizard was hurrying you two along toward the front gate of the school but you were having trouble keeping up with the heavy suitcases swinging from your arms. Only when you drew closer did you recognize the voices and silhouettes of the other exchange students, and the tall mauve witch hat of Headmistress Pukwould.

“Hurry up! Hurry, now,” you heard her insisting, pointing to various nearby spots of ground. “Beauxbatons over here. Yes, yes, Miss Valdez, over here by the old shovel. Mr. Reynolds, you’re going to Mahoutokoro, you need to be by the bushes with the plaid pair of gardening gloves.”

You respected that your Headmistress was personally here to ensure that everyone got to where they were meant to be. She could have easily relegated the task to a professor, but she was invested enough in this endeavor to oversee it herself.

“I’ve got your Hogwarts kids, Celestia,” the wizard said, standing proudly. “Where do they need to go?”

“Ah, ladies,” she grinned, doing her best not to sound overwhelmed, “you two are taking the tea kettle over near the gate.” She pointed in the direction she expected you to go, then quickly turned and ran toward a group of boys screaming, “No! Stop visiting and get to your designated portkeys! They’ll be leaving any minute!”

“A tea kettle? Think that was on purpose?” you snorted, sprinting toward the gate.

“Oh, definitely,” Eleanor grinned.

Once you were settled by your softly glowing tea kettle, you looked around at the nearby grounds. You could vaguely see the shapes of the other students standing around their respective balls of glowing light, witches and wizards much like your navy-robed companion staring at their pocket watches.

“Now, listen closely,” the wizard said, scratching his mustache nervously, “you’ll be arriving on a street in London, right outside of the Leaky Cauldron where you’ll be staying. Someone from Hogwarts will be there waitin’ for ya and tell ya what you need to do next. Got it?”

“Wait, you’re not coming with us?” Eleanor demanded.

“Nope, my journey ends here.”

You two hardly had a chance to nod before the portkey began to pulse. Her face was growing greener by the second.

“Now?”

“Now!”

You barely touched the glowing tea kettle before you were jerked away into a zero gravity world of rotating colors.

* * *

There was a slickness on the cobblestone street outside of the Leaky Cauldron, making the flickering light of the torches reflect back beside your feet. You’d surprisingly landed smoothly, but you couldn’t say the same for poor Eleanor. She was sprawled by your feet surrounded by dropped luggage, breathing shallowly.

You reached down to help her up. “You okay? Take deep breaths!”

“I – I fucking hate portkeys,” she managed to seethe, hands on her knees.

“Oy!”

Both of your heads snapped up at the deep voice to see a large, bulking shadow lumbering out of the nearby magical pub. As the shape stepped closer, you realized that it was the silhouette of an enormous wizard with a messy beard and hair to match. Fear trickled through you, after all, you barely came up past his stomach – but when he stepped into the torchlight, you saw a kind smile and sparkling brown eyes. Your fear melted under the warmth he seemed to radiate.

“Ya gotta be th’ students comin’ over from th’ States, yeh?” he asked in a hearty grumble, leaning down to take both your luggage and Eleanor’s with ease.

“Uh, yeah, yeah, that’s us,” you smiled, awe still etched in your expression at the man’s size.

“Nice to meet ya!” he exclaimed, reaching out to shake your hand with a garbage lid-sized hand of his own. “Me name’s Hagrid, Keeper o’ Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. I’ll also be one o’ yer professors.”

“I’m Y/N,” you introduced yourself. His huge hand could’ve enveloped fifty of yours.

Hagrid looked over at Eleanor, but she was turning increasingly green.

“Blimey, ya’ look like yer gonna be sick,” Hagrid said with concern.

Eleanor gulped, glaring at the innocent tea kettle laying in the street. She could barely speak. “P-Portkey.”

“Ah, Professor Dumbledore thought ya migh’,” Hagrid nodded, reaching into multiple large pockets that covered his vest. It looked to be made of some kind of animal skin. He was looking for something. “’ere we are!”

His large hand held out a small, wrapped candy of some kind. Bright letters across the wrapper read _Sick-Be-Gone!_

“Oh, thank you,” Eleanor gasped, snatching it out of his hand and popping it in her mouth. Her eyes closed and she sighed as if savoring a rich dessert.

Hagrid chuckled. “Reckon tha’s better.”

“I’m Eleanor,” she smiled, shaking his enormous hand. “Thank you, Hagrid.”

“Welcome ter London, Y/N an’ Eleanor!” he said with a large grin, turning back toward the Leaky Cauldron with all of your luggage in his huge arms. “Follow me. Tom’ll get ya up to yer rooms, I bet yer tired.”

“Ugh, that sounds amazing,” you groaned. Eleanor agreed.

The bar was a bit dusty, but obviously had so much character and history that you barely noticed. An older wizard stepped out from behind the bar, smiling. He was missing a tooth or two.

“Name’s Tom,” he said, shaking both you and your friend’s hands. He waved his wand toward the bar, and a rag sprang to life and began to clean a few small glasses. “Hope all that portkey travelin’ didn’t rough ya up too much.”

“Hagrid had us covered,” you smiled. Hagrid grinned behind you.

“Well, I got two rooms for ya upstairs,” Tom said. He motioned for Hagrid to put the luggage down, and with a wave of his wand, the bags were floating as if being carried by invisible people. “They’re next to each other. Follow me, Missus.”

You and Eleanor went to follow Tom and your bags, but Hagrid stopped you.

“Almos’ fergot,” he said quickly, “you two meet me down ‘ere in the mornin’, aroun’ nine. I’m gonna help ya get all yer school stuff!”

The two of you nodded, exchanging goodnights with Hagrid so that Tom could show you your rooms. You followed him up a few rickety, winding staircases before he came to a stop on the third floor.

“Miss Y/N, you’ll be in 310, Miss Eleanor in room 312,” he said, flicking his wand once more so that the doors opened and your respective bags floated to your bedsides. “Let me know if ya need anythin’.”

“Thanks, sir,” you said, stepping into your room and eying the bed longingly. The Leaky Cauldron was far from a five-star hotel, but it was comfortable, and that’s all that mattered.

“Goodnight, sir,” you heard Eleanor say from her room. Tom dipped his head and walked back down the stairs.

“See you at nine,” you smiled, poking your head into Eleanor’s room. It was identical to yours, only with a different bedspread. She yawned and waved.

“Night, Y/N.”

You hastily changed into your bedclothes and sank into the warm, soft sheets. It suddenly hit you just how draining traveling by multiple portkeys could be. You looked forward to the day that Apparition would be an option. You drifted into a deep sleep filled with dreams of floating across the sea from America to Britain.

* * *

The next morning went by in a flash. You and Eleanor met Hagrid downstairs in the Leaky Cauldron as planned, following him into the back alley behind the pub and watching in amazement as the bricks parted for you at a few taps of his pink umbrella. You were puzzled by the lack of wand but decided not to ask.

You obviously had your wand and owl already, but you still needed the necessary books, potion ingredients, and plain black Hogwarts robes. Hagrid pointed out Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, waiting outside as you and Eleanor strolled in to be fitted. He was too large to enter the shop, he told you two with a bit of a blush.

“Hello, dears,” the slightly frazzled woman greeted. You assumed she was Madam Malkin. She waddled out from behind a table beside the three-sided mirror, pins and thread adorning pincushions on both of her wrists and sticking out of odd places on her green robes. “I’ll be with you ladies in just a moment.”

Madam Malkin rushed over to a group of waiting children, pushing them in turn toward the mirror and apple box-like stand, lifting their arms and pinning excess material quickly. Within a matter of ten minutes, she’d finished altering robes for four of them. When the last small child rushed out of the door, she approached the two of you, brushing her curling grey hair out of her plump face.

“Sorry ‘bout that, there are always so many first years,” she chuckled exasperatedly. “What can I do for you? Need longer robes?”

“We need new robes altogether,” you answered with a grin.

“You’re not from these parts, are you?” she asked, noticing your American accent.

“We’re exchange students, it’ll be our first year at Hogwarts,” Eleanor answered.

“Ah! How exciting,” she chippered, already rushing to a pair of racks not far behind you. “Slip these on, dearies, let’s see how they fair.”

Eleanor stepped onto the platform in front of the mirror first, lifting her arms without having to be told. Madam Malkin pinned her sleeves and the hemline of her robe quickly. She pointed out a group of shelves near the front windows that contained skirts, sweaters, and button up shirts that were refolding themselves. She told the two of you exactly what you would need, and what the weather was normally like.

“Your turn,” she smiled at you, motioning with a pin-filled hand to step onto the box.

The bell tingled as the front door to the shop opened, announcing the arrival of new customers. Madam Malkin turned from you to greet the newcomers, but her smile faded and her face paled. You followed her gaze in the mirror.

A pale woman with light blonde hair stepped into the shop, her emerald green robes shimmering and flowing behind her in a way that would’ve been majestic if the look on her face didn’t appear as if she was smelling something foul. Behind her walked a young man that appeared to be your age, with skin equally as fair and hair equally as blonde. His face was pointed, but very handsome, his pink lips and sharp jawline accentuated by his sharp grey-blue eyes and neatly groomed hair. They wreaked of money and wore their beauty proudly, but the air that surrounded them could not be described as pleasant.

“O-oh, Mrs. Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you,” Madam Malkin bowed, but it was obvious that their presence was anything _but_ a pleasure.

Mrs. Malfoy nodded but did not return the sentiment. “My son, Draco, needs new robes,” she stated matter-of-factly, turning to him and resting a pale hand on his shoulder. She fixed Madam Malkin with an icy glare. “His school robes from last year are already ridden with holes. I expect better quality from any business that we frequent.”

“My deepest apologies, Mrs. Malfoy,” the frazzled woman bowed again, grasping her hands together in anxiety. “You’re absolutely right.”

Draco was smirking behind his mother, obviously taking enjoyment in watching her scold the shop owner like a small child. The butterflies in your stomach that were stirred by his appearance were instantly dampened by the expression on his face. You didn’t like the way these Malfoys were treating the older woman.

“We expect the finest materials, Malkin,” Mrs. Malfoy sneered. “If this reoccurs, I’m afraid we’ll be taking our business to a, erm—” she glanced around the small shop, her nose wrinkling, “—more fitting establishment.”

“O-of course, of course,” the shop owner stuttered, obviously shaken by the threat. “It will not happen again, Mrs. Malfoy.”

The blonde woman hummed, seemingly satisfied with how much fear she instilled in Madam Malkin. Draco stepped forward, browsing a nearby rack of more expensive robes and quickly picking a few pairs. He seemed to know what quality looked like, judging from his well-fitted black suit and shining silver serpent ring.

“I-I’ll be done with this young lady in just a moment,” Madam Malkin said nervously, turning to you with pins glinting in her shaking hands. You suddenly felt uneasy about her handling sharp objects with the Malfoys present.

“Unacceptable, I’m afraid we have a tight schedule to keep,” Mrs. Malfoy stated simply.

Draco strolled up to the mirror with the robes folded elegantly on his arm, his reflection making direct eye contact with yours. It felt like his sharp eyes could see every secret you possessed and you felt equally flustered and unnerved. You couldn’t decide if you liked the feeling.

“Are you deaf?” he asked in a voice that was as sharp as his eyes. A smirk that echoed his mother’s pulled up one corner of his mouth.

Your eyes narrowed, and the butterflies were dampened again. You looked to Madam Malkin, asking for her support with your gaze, but she sheepishly avoided your eyes. Not in the mood for drama on your first full day in Britain, you rolled your eyes and stepped down from the platform. You hated the smug smile that curled onto Draco’s handsome face.

“Asshole,” you muttered under your breath, walking to where Eleanor stood by the window shelves. Draco’s eyes locked with yours again in the mirror and he scowled. You smirked yourself, knowing that he’d heard you. His mother obviously did not.

“Who the hell do they think they are?” Eleanor whispered to you, pretending to card through a stack of sweater vests.

“Well, whoever they are, they sure as hell think their shit doesn’t stink,” you whispered in reply, glaring at the back of Draco’s shoulders as Madam Malkin bent to pin his robe hem. Her fingers were still shaking.

“If I wasn’t trying to make a good impression on my first day here, I’d hex the shit outta them,” Eleanor hissed quietly.

You nodded; although, one look at Mrs. Malfoy told you that she wasn’t one to be trifled with.

“I mean, poor thing, look at how nervous they make her,” you said, watching the scene with pity. Draco was now snapping at Madam Malkin for stabbing him with a pin. “No wonder his robes aren’t perfect, they’re yelling at her every two seconds.”

In double the time as it would’ve taken Madam Malkin to pin anyone else’s robes, she finished with Draco’s. He huffed out a “finally”, throwing them all into her arms and strolling back toward the front of the shop to his mother. Mrs. Malfoy muttered something about returning in an hour to pick up the robes, turning and strutting out of the door in a sweep of emerald green.

Draco went to follow, but then he stopped directly in front of you and Eleanor. With an irritatingly attractive smirk, his gaze grazed your body from your shocked face, down to your toes, then back up again.

He winked.

With eyes glinting like slate, he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his smooth black suit, turned, and sauntered out of the shop.

With anger, you realized that your face was a million degrees and the butterflies in your stomach were throwing a full-scale revolt. You didn’t hate the sensation as much as you should, as much as you wish that you did.

“The fuck was that?” Eleanor asked unabashedly.

Your cheeks were so hot that they were almost numb. “I — I don’t know.”

Madam Malkin rushed over to you, stumbling apologies on her lips. You could only make out “very wealthy” and “longtime patrons”. She finished pinning your robes in a rush, her face still flushed in what you could only assume was embarrassment. She murmured that both of your robes would be ready in a few hours, avoiding eye contact, then shooed you both out of the shop. If you didn’t pity her so, you would’ve been offended.

Hagrid was waiting for you two, looking up from a small wooden carving that he was whittling with a large knife. Seeing the looks on your faces, it didn’t take him long to make the connection.

“Venturin’ a guess tha’ ya met the Malfoys?” he asked gruffly, distaste evident in his tone. “Rotten lot they are.”

“Yeah, what’s their problem?” you demanded. “They treated Madam Malkin like she was a servant.”

“They fancy ‘emselves better than mos’,” he growled. “Pure-bloods, they are.”

Eleanor groaned, and you echoed it. In America, pure-blood mania had all but disappeared over a century ago. A limited number of wizards arrived on the large continent, and after a handful of centuries had passed, it became more than obvious that the pure-blood families would have no choice but to inbreed if they wanted to keep their status. Some even tried, but magic would die out of the families if their kind didn’t eventually mate with No-Majs. Barely a wizard was alive in America today that wasn’t half-blood or less.

“Are you serious?” you asked. “That’s still a thing here?”

Hagrid chuckled at your tone. “Jus’ ignore ‘em.” He stopped and pointed down Diagon Alley to an old shop painted in black. “Righ’ there’s where ya need ta git yer potion supplies.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent gathering the last of what you needed for your first day at Hogwarts, but you couldn’t stop thinking about the oddly beautiful yet unbearably cold mother and son that had swept into Madam Malkin’s. You gritted your teeth. But then you tried not to blush as you recalled Draco’s piercing eyes and self-assured smirk. And what the hell was that taunting wink all about?

Darkness had fallen by the time the three of you finished shopping. Hagrid treated you and Eleanor to a small but delicious dinner downstairs at the Leaky Cauldron. You were to meet him downstairs again in the morning for King’s Cross Station.

“Make sure yer wearin’ Muggle attire,” he reminded you on his way out the door.

“Wait, what? What’s a Muggle?” Eleanor asked, confused.

Hagrid chuckled, understanding. “Wha’ we call non-magic folk.”

“Ahh,” you nodded, smiling at the odd term. “We say No-Maj in America, like ‘no magic’.”

“Makes sense, I reckon,” he smiled through his thick beard. He waved a large hand. “See ya in th’ mornin’.”

In a tired haze, you and your friend trudged up the multiple flights of stairs, carrying all of your purchases from the day. Once you’d exchanged goodnights with Eleanor, you stuffed all of the supplies and robes into your suitcases haphazardly, anxious to get to sleep. You had to get up early in the morning to look your best before you left for King’s Cross. Your future peers were going to see you for the first time, and first impressions mattered.

Your eyelids became heavy as you watched your lamp fizzle out, excitement and nerves lazily tying knots in your stomach for what was to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** I do not own Harry Potter or any of its original characters, only the characters and plotlines that I create. **


	3. Friends and Enemies

You woke up bright and early the next morning, unable to sleep any longer because of the adrenaline pumping through your veins. The greatest adventure of your life was to start today; you’d get to ride on the Hogwarts Express, see the famous castle, and meet so many interesting new people. You took your time bathing, enjoying the scented wash you brought from home and letting the warm water relax your tense muscles. The bubbles from your magical soap floated through the air, sparkling and turning themselves into various shapes of magical creatures, earning an amused giggle from you.

Eventually you stood from the cooling bath water with a content sigh and dabbed your wet skin with a fluffy towel. You dried and lightly curled your hair with your favorite magical brush, although you’d be lying if you said you couldn’t wait to get to Hogwarts so you could just use your wand – it was so much faster and more versatile.

You applied your makeup the non-magical way, thinking of your mother as you did so. The summer after your father’s death, she’d come into your bathroom early one morning as you were brushing your teeth. She didn’t say much. She’d brought her set of makeup and sighed, reaching up to dry the fresh tears from your cheeks.

“Why don’t we do something fun?” she had offered, giving you a watery smile.

You’d spent at least two hours in the bathroom with her that rainy morning, learning all of her fun tips on how to apply makeup. It was the first time you’d smiled, really smiled, since your father’s passing.

It was a happy memory for you and a lovely bit of bonding time with your mom. In the years since, you’d learned a lot from No-Maj magazines and television shows on how to improve your makeup, and you’d even shown your mother the new tricks you’d learned. It was a regular thing now.

You decided to start thinking of something else, considering that you were doing your eye makeup and getting emotional would only make your mascara run. You applied your concealer, highlighter, and lipstick, then quickly sprayed your face with setting spray. You’d learned to apply your makeup magically from your friends at Ilvermorny, but you still enjoyed doing it the No-Maj way sometimes. The motions were repetitive and relaxing.

A quick knock at your door made you jump, but then you heard Eleanor’s sleepy voice.

“Hey, what’re you wearing today?” she asked through the door. You opened it to see her standing there in a fresh robe that matched your own, her hair still wet from the bath. “Oh, wow, you look great!”

“Thanks,” you grinned, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “Want me to do your makeup?”

“Oh geez, yes please,” she laughed, stepping into your room. She started shaking the towel through her wet locks as she observed the outfit laid out on your bed. “I suddenly hate every piece of clothing that I packed and I need all of the help I can get.”

“Sure,” you said, running a hand over your soft green t-shirt and fitted distressed jeans that were laid out. “I’m not going too fancy today, we’ll have to change clothes on the train after all. But I still want my look to be flattering, ya know?”

“Teach me, oh great one,” Eleanor grinned, and you rolled your eyes.

After helping her find a cute ensemble out of the incredible amount of clothes she’d managed to fit into her large trunk, you got dressed. The jeans hugged your hips and legs in all of the right places, showing peaks of skin here and there through the distressed fabric. You slipped on a pair of modestly-heeled black booties, giving you a bit of height and your backside a bit more definition. You tucked in your olive green cotton tee and smiled at your reflection. You thought you looked attractive yet approachable, which was exactly what you were going for.

Eleanor wasn’t much of a makeup wearer, but she asked you to help her apply the smallest bit. You brushed some mascara over her lashes and lightly tapped her cheeks with a bit of blush. She was happy with it.

“Oi, well don’ you two look brigh’ eyed,” Hagrid greeted as you and Eleanor met him downstairs by the bar. “Excited fer ya trip to Hogwarts, I reckon?”

“We’re so pumped,” you beamed, nodding in thanks as Hagrid bent to pick up your luggage with ease.

“Is the Hogwarts Express as beautiful as everyone says, Hagrid?” Eleanor asked. The both of you followed the large man out of the door, waving goodbye to a sleepy-looking Tom that was wiping the bar.

“Oh, she’s a beaut,” he said with a smile in his voice. “Had a bit o’ trouble fittin’ in th’ compartments after me firs’ year, but lots o’ good mem’ries on tha’ train.”

Kings Cross Station wasn’t a long walk from the Leaky Cauldron, considering Hagrid’s knowledge of some shortcuts not far from Diagon Alley. It was hard to keep up with his enormous strides, though. In no time, you all were walking into the sunlit and busy station, surrounded by bustling men and women on their morning commute. Many were staring at Hagrid, equally in awe and frightened.

“Now, yer gonna find Platform 9 ¾,” Hagrid told the two of you, leaning down to place your luggage at your feet. “You’ll know wha’ to do. Reckon you’ll see sum other students goin’ through.”

“Thank you so much, Hagrid,” you grinned, briefly squeezing his enormous arm. He smiled back kindly through the bushy beard.

“You rock, Hagrid,” Eleanor said. Hagrid tried not to beam, swatting his garbage lid-sized hand in modesty.

“It’s nothin’,” he grumbled. “I’ll see ya at Hogwarts, yeah?”

“See you later!”

Hagrid waved goodbye and turned, his long strides carrying him away from you in seconds flat.

“Hope everyone at Hogwarts is as nice as Hagrid,” you told Eleanor, turning to her and pulling out the Hogwarts Express ticket from your pocket. _Platform 9 ¾_ shined back at you in metallic gold lettering.

“Well, let’s get a luggage cart then try to find this weird-ass platform,” Eleanor sighed, picking up her luggage with a huff. You did the same, the two of you waddling towards a group of empty carts beside a nearby barrier. After loading all of your trunks, the two of you began searching for the magical barrier in the midst of all of the normal ones.

“I’m so glad that Cinna will be at the castle when we get there,” you mentioned absentmindedly. “She’d be hooting like crazy with all of this traveling.”

“Same with Bebe,” Eleanor agreed. Bebe was her black cat with piercing green eyes and a very fluffy tail. “She would be throwing a fit and attracting all kinds of unwanted attention.”

You stopped abruptly, throwing out an arm to stop Eleanor as well. Both of your trunks swayed dangerously on your luggage carts from the sudden motion.

“Hold on, there’s Platform 9,” you said, pointing toward the clearly numbered sign hanging from the brick barrier.

“And there’s 10,” your friend nodded, pointing as well. “Okay, now where’s ours?”

“Hagrid said we’d know what to do and to look for other students,” you said, almost to yourself. Your eyes darted around, looking for anyone that would stick out from the crowd. Wizards weren’t always the best at selecting inconspicuous No-Maj clothing.

“Let’s see who’s wearing something ridiculous,” Eleanor snorted, leaning on the handle of her cart and resting her chin in her hand. “Someone’s mom or dad is bound to be wearing a lime green fur coat or something.”

The two of you waited for a few minutes, watching the area around the barrier and nervously glancing at a nearby clock on the wall. It was drawing closer and closer to nine o’clock.

Just as you were beginning to worry that the two of you would miss the train, it happened. A group of girls that weren’t much older than you walked toward the platform, laughing at something casually. One leaned back against the brick between platforms 9 and 10, and _boom_ , it happened. She disappeared through the wall. Each girl, in turns, subtly slipped out of sight, the surrounding No-Maj’s none the wiser.

“Thank goodness,” Eleanor sighed in relief.

The two of you approached the platform with caution, doing your best to remain inconspicuous. You’d learned after many years of living with your No-Maj mother that ordinary people tended to miss out on subtle magic even if it was happening right in front of them — because they weren’t looking for it.

You let Eleanor go first while you played lookout. She backed her cart against the barrier and leaned against it like the group of girls did. In a moment, she’d disappeared. You glanced around nervously, but no one had taken any notice. You breathed out a relieved sigh, then copied her movements exactly.

It felt like a warm, soft breeze as you sank through the brick. Suddenly, the station dematerialized and was replaced by a huge black steam engine and a bustling crowd of robe-clad witches and wizards. You grinned at Eleanor in excitement, looking up to see a red sign that read _Platform 9 ¾_ in slanted gold lettering. The platform was incredibly busy, filled with families hugging goodbye and the sound of rolling luggage and the hum of excited chatter.

“This is it,” you sighed dreamily. A huge smile broke over your face and Eleanor matched it. Your adventure to Hogwarts was officially beginning.

You and Eleanor rushed to the train in excitement, dragging your trunks along behind you. With a bit of difficulty, you both unloaded the carts and heaved your suitcases through the open door with the help of a station employee. Seeing your evident confusion, he told you in a thick Irish accent to take the trunk containing your school robes and to leave the rest with him.

The inside of the Hogwarts express was cozy, but not incredibly roomy, and you recalled Hagrid’s comment. You snorted at the mental image of the giant man trying to squeeze down the car hallway.

“Let’s find a compartment,” Eleanor whispered to you excitedly, grabbing your hand to pull you along. Her palm was sweaty and so was yours.

You both walked past many students in the train corridor, some looking at the two of you curiously. It was obvious that most of the students seemed familiar with who was in their year at this point, so two new faces that weren’t first years caught some attention. You heard some whispering as you passed, but none of it seemed unkind, at least that’s what you were hoping.

Some compartment doors were open, filled with chatting and laughing teenagers, others were closed. A few glanced curiously at you and Eleanor as you walked by and peered in.

“Is there not a single empty compartment on this train?” Eleanor complained, frustration seeping through her tone.

“Hey, maybe that’s a good thing,” you told her hopefully. “It’ll force us to talk to people, right? Maybe make some friends?”

“That’s all well and good,” she shrugged. “I was just kind of hoping we could avoid the staring for a while longer.”

You hummed in agreement. A few heads were poking out of compartments that the two of you had already passed, not bothering to hide their curious stares. You weren’t sure if you were flattered, uncomfortable, or a weird combination of both.

“I do feel a bit like a zoo animal,” you laughed uneasily.

“Damn it, Y/N, we should’ve looked less hot today,” Eleanor joked, lightly shoving your shoulder. “Now the Brits can’t keep their eyes off of us.”

You laughed aloud at her sarcasm.

“Are the two of you lost?”

You almost jumped in surprise at the unexpected voice coming from behind you. You turned to see a bushy-haired, proud-looking girl that was already in her Gryffindor robes with a shiny red badge pinned to her chest. A tall, freckled and red-headed boy stood behind her. He seemed a bit uneasy.

“Oh, hi,” you smiled, a bit surprised. “We’re just trying to find a compartment.”

The girl’s eyes lit up at your American accent, and the redhead suddenly seemed a lot more interested in the conversation.

“Are you two exchange students from Ilvermorny?” she practically gushed, clasping her hands together in excitement. You and Eleanor exchanged amused smiles.

“Yeah, that’s us,” you replied. “It’s that obvious, huh?”

“Well, the accent gives it away a bit,” the boy grinned, and the girl turned and lightly slapped his arm.

“I mean, it’s that obvious that we look lost?” you corrected yourself, laughing at his smart remark.

The girl smiled sympathetically. She reached out her hand. “I’m Hermione Granger, and this is Ronald Weasley. We’re Gryffindor prefects.”

Ron seemed to stand up a bit straighter at that and puffed out his chest. You and Eleanor each shook her hand in turn, introducing yourselves. Ron waved a bit awkwardly but not unkindly.

“So, what’s a prefect?” Eleanor asked curiously, pointing to the badges on their chests.

“We were chosen out of a select number of students in our year to guide our peers and help to uphold the rules,” Hermione stated proudly. “A boy and girl are chosen from each house. I’ve read about Ilvermorny, but couldn’t find anything about student guides.”

“In our fourth year, three students are chosen to help the younger kids with their studies and stuff,” you shrugged. “They’re a bit like glorified tutors, but I don’t know if that’s the same thing.”

Ron’s chest puffed out again, pride in his stance. “We do a bit more than that, I’d say.”

At Eleanor’s giggle, he seemed to remember that he needed to look cool and crossed his arms, leaning against the nearest compartment door as casually as he could. Hermione rolled her eyes at him.

“Well, we’re here to help,” she said, an excited glimmer in her brown eyes. “There’ll be prefects to help you two in whatever house you’re sorted. But you’re always welcome to come to one of us! I’d absolutely _love_ to hear all about America’s magical education. Doesn’t that sound positively fascinating, Ron?”

He shrugged, not hiding his disinterest well. She was obviously a bookworm and he very obviously was not.

“Anyway, there are normally a few empty compartments toward the back of the train,” Hermione said, seeming to remember that you four were standing in the middle of the almost empty hallway.

“Awesome, thanks,” Eleanor smiled.

“I’d truly love to stay and chat, but we’re expected in the prefect’s carriage,” she sighed apologetically, and you had no doubt that she really was sorry to miss the chance to ask you as many questions as possible. “It was lovely to meet you.”

“You too,” you said, and stepped aside so that Hermione and Ron could walk toward the front of the train.

The floor lurched, almost knocking you and Eleanor off balance, and the steam engine whistled. The train was slowly beginning to move.

“Hogwarts, here we come,” Eleanor squealed, clapping her hands. The two of you hugged in excitement, ignoring a few of the people still sneaking peeks at you from their open compartment doors.

You and your friend practically skipped down toward the end of the train, taking Hermione’s advice and finally finding an empty compartment. With a great heave, you swung your luggage up to the top rack and removed your wand from one of the zippered pockets. You hadn’t done magic all summer and the itch was almost irresistible. Eleanor was obviously thinking the same thing, flicking her wand silently at a small magazine she’d pulled from her bag.

“Did you ever get the hang of non-verbal spells?” she asked, not taking her eyes off of the magazine that lay motionless on the bench beside you.

“Eh,” you said noncommittally. You were modest. “We learned it right before break, and most of the class didn’t get it anyway. I’m always a bit rusty when summer ends.”

“Same,” she muttered, flicking her wand relentlessly in repeating patterns. But the magazine still didn’t move.

You pulled a book out of your trunk: _Hogwarts, a History: The Revised Edition_. You wanted to learn as much about the school as you possibly could before you got there. Not only would the knowledge make navigating the castle a bit easier, but you could almost feel your father inside of the pages. With every new experience, like meeting Hagrid, staying in the Leady Cauldron, and boarding the train, you felt closer and closer to him.

“Oh, shit!”

Eleanor’s scream made you jump, and you realized with a whiff of smoke that the magazine had burst into flames. You bolted out of your seat and quickly drew your wand.

“ _Aguamenti_!” you exclaimed. Water rushed from your wand tip and extinguished the burning pages. You both were panting as you turned your irritated gaze to her. She grinned sheepishly.

“Told you I was rusty…”

“Were you _trying_ to catch it on fire?” you questioned, adrenaline starting to retreat. Your heart was still pounding.

“Um, no,” she practically whispered. “I was trying to freeze it.”

You snorted, holding back a laugh. “Keep that up and you won’t end up in Ravenclaw.”

“I’m just nervous! Horned Serpent won’t let me down. I’m sure the Sorting Hat will see that.”

She waited for you to agree, craving your confirmation. You smiled at her, understanding her nerves. You were not-so-secretly terrified that the hat wouldn’t be able to sort you at all.

“Of course it will be able to tell,” you said kindly, and Eleanor let out a breath she’d been holding.

Determined to help her with her uneasiness, the two of you practiced simple non-verbal spells for the next forty minutes or so. When you froze a magazine page on your first try, Eleanor seemed to deflate. You then purposefully messed up on every attempt until she successfully covered a page in ice. She pumped a fist into the air, overjoyed. You smiled.

Then your compartment door slid open, revealing the bushy-haired prefect.

“Hello,” she smiled. “Our prefect meeting just finished. Would you like to join us in our compartment?”

“Yeah, that sounds great,” you grinned, thankful that a kind student was already taking you and Eleanor under their wing.

The two of you pulled your belongings down from the racks above your seats and followed Hermione down the hallway. The compartment was only a few paces away from yours.

She slid open the door and walked inside, reaching to help Eleanor slide her trunk onto the overhead shelf. A boy with dark, somewhat messy hair and glasses looked up in surprise. He was sitting across from Ron, the redhead that you’d met earlier. Ron greeted you with a short wave, whispering something quickly to the raven-haired boy.

“Don’t be rude, introduce yourself,” Hermione scolded. She sounded like a disappointed mother.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” the green-eyed boy muttered. He stood and stuck out his hand, albeit awkwardly. “I’m Harry.”

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” you smiled, shaking his hand. It was calloused, but warm.

“Eleanor,” your friend said, shaking his hand as well.

“They’re exchange students from _Ilvermorny_ ,” Hermione gushed, sitting down beside Ron. You sat down on the opposite bench next to Harry, then Eleanor sat beside you. “Isn’t that so exciting?”

Harry looked mildly confused. “Ilvermorny?”

“Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” Hermione said, waiting for him to catch on. He didn’t. “It’s the magical school in America,” she explained, looking a bit put out that he didn’t know this. “Honestly, Harry, we learned about other wizarding schools from Professor McGonagall last term, remember? After Christmas she posted the I.W.S.E.P. signup sheet in the common room.”

“I was a bit distracted with the tournament last year,” Harry said, a bit defensive because of her gaze.

Hermione sighed, suddenly looking sad. She looked to Ron expectantly. “You remember, don’t you, Ronald?”

Ron grinned uneasily. “Sure, yeah. Good ole I.W.S.E.P.”

“What does I.W.S.E.P. stand for, Ron?” she asked flatly.

“Uh… well, International, uh, Witch… Witch Switching Event—?”

“Honestly! Just admit you didn’t listen either, Ron!”

“It’s not a big deal,” you cut in, grinning uneasily. “Most of my house didn’t listen either. A lot of the students who ended up doing the exchange program already knew about it way beforehand. I’d decided I was going by my third year.”

Hermione was suddenly very interested in what you had to say, and Ron shot you a thankful look. You could see that Harry was doing his very best not to laugh at Ron.

“Tell us all about your school!” Hermione squealed, scooting to the edge of her seat and resting her chin in her hands. She reminded you of a small child watching their favorite television program. “What’s it like? I’ve read all about the sorting process, it is absolutely fascinating. And that you don’t receive your wand until _after_ your sorting ceremony?”

“Wow, you know a lot about it,” Eleanor said, mildly impressed.

“Hermione knows loads,” Ron interjected. Hermione tried to hide her flattered grin, but the slight flush of her cheeks betrayed her.

Harry was looking out the window, his brow furrowed. His mind was obviously elsewhere.

“Well,” you began, looking away from Harry and back to Hermione and Ron, “Ilvermorny is modeled after Hogwarts, ya know, so not too much is different.”

“Oooh, yes, I read about that too,” Hermione nodded. “The founder, Isolt Sayre, dreamed of going to Hogwarts in her childhood, didn’t she?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, “that’s why one of our uniform colors is blue. She wanted to be a Ravenclaw.”

“Same,” Eleanor sighed. Hermione grinned at her.

“Are you academically inclined?” she asked Eleanor.

“I’d like to think so,” Eleanor shrugged. “I’ve just heard that my house, Horned Serpent, and Ravenclaw are kind of alike. I’ll be happy no matter what house I’m sorted into, but I think Ravenclaw may feel a bit more like home.”

“I was almost sorted in Ravenclaw,” Hermione said, and you weren’t surprised.

“Really? Then why are you in Gryffindor?” Eleanor asked, scooting to the edge of her seat too.

“I chose it,” she said simply. “Books and cleverness are important, of course, but there are more important things.”

“So, the Sorting Hat will let you choose your house?” you asked quickly. Hermione noticed the desperate twinge in your tone.

“Well,” she said gently, “to a degree. But only if you truly belong there.”

You sighed. Hermione looked at Eleanor questioningly.

“She’s nervous that she won’t be sorted,” Eleanor explained, rolling her eyes but squeezing your arm.

“Everyone gets sorted,” Ron assured, certainty lacing his tone. “My whole family’s been in Gryffindor, I remember as a First Year being terrified that I was gonna end up in another house. But it all works out, doesn’t it?”

“Why are you afraid that you won’t be sorted?” Hermione asked curiously.

You shrugged, tucking your hair behind your ear shyly. You never enjoyed talking about this, afraid that you’d come off as bragging.

“Well, this thing happens at Ilvermorny sometimes, during the sorting ceremony,” you began hesitantly. Harry turned his head towards you, the conversation catching his interest. “It doesn’t happen super often…”

“Like, once every decade or two,” Eleanor added. You blushed a bit.

“More than one house can choose you,” you explained, wringing your hands together. “The houses show that they want you when their wooden statues come to life. You stand in the middle of the circle and the whole school is watching from the side and the balconies above.”

“Do you have four houses like we do?” asked Ron.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Horned Serpent, Pukwudgie, Thunderbird, and Wampus.”

“What happens if more than one house chooses you?” Harry asked. Hermione seemed glad that he was taking part in the conversation, relieved even. You wondered why.

You turned to Harry. “If more than one house chooses you, then the student gets to choose where they want to go.”

“A bit like the Sorting Hat,” Hermione added. “So, what happens once every ten years?”

“It’s not uncommon for more than one house to choose a student,” Eleanor said, “but it only happens once every few years that three houses will show interest. Even rarer that all four want someone.”

“All four wanted me,” you said quietly, a bit embarrassed by the attention. Ron’s eyebrows shot up and Hermione seemed very impressed. Harry seemed impressed as well, exchanging a loaded glance with Ron.

“Imagine the Sorting Hat announcing that it can’t decide,” Ron said to Harry, laughing in disbelief. “Can you imagine? I think McGonagall’s head would explode.”

“Has that ever happened?” you asked worriedly. “I mean, what if the Sorting Hat doesn’t know where to put me?”

“It’s never failed to sort a student in Hogwarts’ history,” Hermione assured you, putting a comforting hand on yours before pulling it away. “I’m quite certain it would just allow you to choose.”

You sighed.

“What house did you go with?” Harry asked you.

“Thunderbird,” you answered, a smile creeping onto your face. You were proud of your house.

“And what kind of person goes to Thunderbird?” asked Ron.

“Well, it’s said that Thunderbird leans toward adventurers and represents the soul.”

“The soul?” asked Harry, brows pulling together.

“The houses at Ilvermorny aren’t exactly like Hogwarts,” Eleanor explained, biting her lip as she thought. “I’m not sure how to explain it. Ilvermorny houses are said to represent parts of a human being. Horned Serpent usually leans toward scholars, so it represents the mind. Wampus leans toward warriors, so the body. Thunderbird favors adventurers, so the soul. And Pukwudgie favors healers, so people who lead with their heart.”

“It’s such an interesting take on things, don’t you think?” Hermione said dreamily to no one in particular. She was like a sponge, soaking up every word that came out of your mouths.

“Why did you go with Thunderbird?” asked Harry.

“People ask me that a lot,” you smiled. “What I told Eleanor is… I guess I see the soul as the root of everything? I mean, it all goes back to that. When we’re born, when we die, our souls are who we are at the most fundamental level. They last long after we leave this earth.”

Harry sighed, nodding almost imperceptibly. His eyes were filled with some sort of pain that he was making an effort to hide. Ron and Hermione watched him, concerned.

“I think that’s a lovely sentiment,” Hermione said to you, “that souls are the beginning and never-ending. That the people we care about never really leave us after they die.”

You smiled, your father’s joyful face flitting through your mind. “Yeah. That’s actually one of the reasons I wanted to come to Hogwarts. My dad was a student here.”

“Blimey, really?” Ron laughed. “Knew you weren’t so bad, you’ve got a bit of Brit in you.”

You rolled your eyes and laughed, Hermione turning to Ron and slapping his arm again. You gathered that this was a common occurrence between the two.

“He was in Hufflepuff,” you said.

“Oh, Gryffindors get along swimmingly with Hufflepuffs,” Hermione chirped. “We normally have a few classes together every term.”

“Bet your dad’s rooting for you to get sorted into Hufflepuff, yeah?” Ron questioned.

Eleanor looked down at her shoes, clearing her throat uncomfortably. You bit your lip and Hermione seemed to instantly detect that something was wrong. Ron, of course, was oblivious.

“Uh, actually, he died a few years ago,” you said quietly. Harry turned to look at you, understanding in his green eyes.

“Oh, damn. Sorry,” Ron mumbled, avoiding your eyes.

“No, you’re fine, Ron,” you said quickly. “It’s not like it’s a taboo subject or anything. I just don’t talk about it much is all.” You shrugged halfheartedly. “I should probably get used to talking about it more anyway, I guess, now that I’ll be at a new school where my dad used to go. I’m just hoping to, I don’t know, get closer to his memory somehow? I know it sounds stupid.”

“It’s not stupid at all,” Harry said quickly. You were a bit surprised by the intensity of his tone. “When I hear things from the professors about my mum, or see a Quidditch trophy that my dad won, I can feel it. Like I’m getting a glimpse at them.”

Ron and Hermione exchanged sad glances. You didn’t miss the gloomy air that the three were giving off.

“Your parents…?” you asked quietly.

“Are dead, yeah,” he answered. He ran a hand through his dark hair, and then you saw it. With an audible gasp, you didn’t understand why you didn’t realize it before. He’d introduced himself as Harry, after all.

“You’re – oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize,” you stammered, “… that was a stupid question, I shouldn’t have asked. I just didn’t know who—who you were.”

Eleanor seemed confused, then her eyes fell upon the lightening scar that was no longer hidden underneath his dark hair. Her mouth dropped open quite unabashedly.

“It’s alright,” Harry shrugged. “It was actually sort of nice, meeting people who didn’t instantly know who I was.”

“Well, uh, it’s cool to meet you,” you said awkwardly.

“Uh, yeah! Like, _beyond_ cool,” Eleanor grinned behind you.

You couldn’t believe this whole time that you were discussing worries as silly as sorting to The Boy Who Lived, the boy who, as a baby, defeated You-Know-Who and survived the Killing Curse. Your problems and fears must seem so small and trivial to him.

Harry offered an awkward but understanding smile. You realized that he must deal with this reaction every time he met someone new. It must’ve been exhausting.

Just then, the compartment door flew open with an unpleasant bang. In strutted two large boys that reminded you of stunted gorillas, following a familiar handsome face and perfectly styled light blonde hair. The atmosphere of the compartment poisoned; you could feel the instant shift in the air. Your three new friends were glaring at Draco Malfoy with all of the hatred and disgust they could possibly muster. You exchanged a glance of recognition with Eleanor, the two of you sinking back into your seats to avoid whatever confrontation was obviously coming.

“Potter,” Draco spat, the name rolling off his tongue like a curse, “just thought I’d drop by to show you _this_.” He stood up straighter in his fitted black suit, a green prefect pin glinting on his chest. “Someone needs to remind you of your _superiors_.”

“Big whoop, Malfoy, we’re prefects too,” Ron spat back, pointing to the pin on his chest. Malfoy sneered.

“Obvious lack of judgement, Weaselby,” he smirked. His grey eyes pierced through Hermione, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “If they allow mudbloods to be prefects now, then what’s a blood traitor?”

You and Eleanor gasped at his use of the slur. Even then, he didn’t seem to notice the two of you, too intent on causing chaos.

“And what does that say about _you_ , Potter?” he smirked nastily. “That _they_ get chosen as prefects over you? Not Dumbledore’s little golden boy anymore, are you?”

Draco’s cronies laughed behind him, fueling his ever-deepening smirk.

Harry shot up from his seat, rage radiating off of him in waves that were almost visible. This was obviously what Malfoy came for. His face was twisting into a superior smile. Harry’s wand was clutched in his shaking fist.

“At least my father’s not a cruel, murdering, prejudiced piece of—”

“Harry, he’s not worth it,” Hermione begged, standing to grab Harry’s arm and pull him back.

“Keep my father’s name out of your mouth, Potter,” Draco threatened. He stepped closer to Harry as Hermione continued to attempt to pull her friend back with little success. Harry’s grip tightened on his wand so much that his fingers turned white, causing a few sparks to fly out of the tip. Malfoy’s cronies were beginning to crack their knuckles in anticipation.

You weren’t sure when you decided to do this, or why in the hell you thought it was a good idea, but you suddenly stood. Malfoy and his bodyguards finally seemed to realize that there were two other people in the compartment. Recognition flitted across his face, and you knew that he recognized you from the day before in Madam Malkin’s.

“I could be wrong, but I don’t think anyone in this compartment gives two damns that you’re a prefect, Draco,” you snapped, a confidence in your voice that you certainly weren’t feeling. Harry, Ron, and Hermione gaped at you in shock, both surprised by your involvement and the fact that you even knew who Malfoy was.

Draco was taken off guard, but quickly recovered.

“I heard whispers of Americans on the train,” he said unkindly, eyes glinting but holding the slightest bit of fascination. “I suppose Hogwarts is officially scraping the bottom of the bin nowadays.”

Anger curdled in your stomach and boiled in your blood. You could easily see why Harry was so quick to anger the moment Malfoy stepped into the compartment—he was getting under your skin, too.

“Well, I guess they are if _you’re_ here,” you said, crossing your arms, “and named a prefect no less? They’re obviously lowering their standards. I mean, damn, I just met you and I already think you’re a waste of space.”

Ron snorted behind you, not bothering to hold back his laugh. Hermione even had to slap a hand over her mouth not to giggle. Draco’s scowl was venomous, far more intimidating than the one he’d given you in the robe shop when you’d called him an asshole.

“I’d be careful if I were you,” he said, dangerously quiet. His blue-grey eyes drilled into you, and the most conflicting sensation of butterflies and hatred trickled from your stomach to your toes. “Already associating with mudbloods and blood traitors before you even hit the grounds? Pity.”

“Ya know, I _really_ don’t like that word,” you said, sickeningly sweet. Your wand was at Malfoy’s throat before anyone could react, and Draco’s cronies didn’t seem to know what to do. They drew their wands and pointed them at you, looking at each other with confusion.

Draco’s surprised eyes were locked with yours, his chin tilted up and his Adam’s apple bobbing with a nervous gulp. He was doing his best to act tough, but you could tell that he was uneasy. He didn’t know you and didn’t know what you were capable of. He had been banking on a fight with Harry, not on a fight with you.

“Nah ah ah,” you smiled, shaking your head at the drawn wands of the gorillas flanking him. You pointedly twisted the tip of your wand into Draco’s neck a bit – not enough to hurt him, of course, but enough to make your point. “I’ll hex him before you can even open your mouths.”

They exchanged fearful glances again, their wands wavering. Draco didn’t dare turn his head to look at them, but seethed through his teeth, “Lower your wands, you morons!”

They did as they were told, and you smiled at them. “That’s better.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione didn’t seem to know what to do either, but their faces were filled with gleeful astonishment. Eleanor was staring at you in awe. You didn’t blame her; you weren’t one to get into fights at Ilvermorny. Actually, you’d never been in a fight; you’d never done anything like this. But the adrenaline rushing through your veins was a heady combination when it mixed with the butterflies dancing in your gut.

“You know what my specialty is, Draco?” you asked, tapping your wand teasingly against his Adam’s apple. He gulped again and closed his eyes, breathing loudly through his nose. “I’m pretty good with non-verbal spells. You’d never know what was coming.”

He nervously licked his lips and stared back down at you, eyes filled with distaste, anger, and something else that you couldn’t quite place.

“And non-verbal as in, ya know, making _you_ non-verbal,” you added with a smirk reminiscent of his own, pressing the tip of your wand into the side of his neck. Again, not enough to hurt him, but enough to make his heart race. Yours was racing too.

You had no idea where this surge of confidence was coming from, but you sure as hell weren’t stopping now.

“If I hear that nasty, disgusting word come out of your mouth again… well, you won’t be saying _anything_ for a while,” you whispered sweetly. Draco’s clenched jaw, the vein popping out of his neck, his furrowed brows and gaze so intense that you couldn’t distinguish between the adrenaline and the butterflies anymore – you realized with overwhelming shame just how _hot_ you thought he was.

You hated yourself.

“You’ll regret this,” he whispered venomously, meant for your ears only.

“Will I really?” you asked, tapping the wand against his throat again. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for your wordless hex. You stood there for a moment, anticipation building, letting him think that you were going to do it. Then, with a satisfied laugh, you lowered your wand and stepped back. You’d never planned on hexing him, not really, but you wanted him to know that you could, at any moment, without any incantation to warn him.

Draco’s eyes popped open, feeling the sudden loss of contact. He let out a breath that he didn’t realize he was holding, reaching up to rub at his neck. He eyes darted around the compartment, taking in the smug faces of the Gryffindors and the confused faces of his cronies. With intense anger, he realized just how embarrassed he was.

“You better watch your back, Potter!” he spat, pointing a pale finger at Harry’s amused face. “Your luck is running out. He’s got plans for you. He’s going to kill you, just like your boyfriend.”

Harry’s face darkened. Then Draco’s furious eyes darted to you.

“And _you_ ,” he whispered spitefully, “you’ll regret ever leaving your backwoods trailer!”

You had no doubt that he meant it, but you hid your apprehension at his words, only raising a skeptical eyebrow at him.

With that, he stomped off down the hall, tailed closely by his muddled friends. You could hear him cursing the whole way.

“ _Y/N_!” Eleanor breathed in disbelief, gripping your arm like a vice and dragging you down to the seat beside her. “What the actual _fuck_ was that? I mean, don’t get me wrong, it was pretty awesome—but what the _fuck_?!”

“That was _bloody brilliant_!” Ron exclaimed, practically jumping out of his seat in joy. “Will you marry me?”

You all busted into laughter.

“Malfoy might have it out for you even more than Harry,” Hermione giggled, but there was an air of uneasiness. “Not that I don’t think you’re capable of defending yourself, but are you sure that was clever? He’ll be out for blood now.”

“Come on, Hermione,” Ron rolled his eyes, “you’re ruining the moment!”

“Yeah, take the victory, Hermione,” Harry agreed with a grin.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Harry grabbed a silvery-looking cloak from his trunk, tucking it under his arms and murmuring something about returning in a few minutes. You didn’t think anything of it, but Ron and Hermione seemed a bit skeptical and irritated by the action.

The rest of the train ride was peppered with questions about Hogwarts and Ilvermorny, funny quips about what happened with Malfoy, and a delicious helping of sweets from the friendly trolley witch. Harry never returned.

You hadn’t realized just how much time had passed when Hermione stood up and stretched, instructing Ron to change into his robes. They needed to go back to the prefect carriage toward the front of the train before arrival, she explained. She recommended that you and Eleanor change into your school robes as well.

The Hogwarts Express pulled into a small wizarding village called Hogsmeade at dark, just as you finished adjusting your new robes and helping Eleanor fix her hair. You could hear the _chuga-chuga_ of the wheels slow, and the train lurch as it came to a full stop. Compartment doors were banging open and students were talking, laughing, and running down the hallways as they trickled out of the train.

You and Eleanor grabbed your luggage, stuffed your wands into the pocket of your robes, and set out into the night. The enormous castle loomed before you, quite visible from the village. The lit windows winked at you against the backdrop of the inky night sky.

“It’s Hogwarts,” Eleanor whispered in awe.

You were content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I do not own Harry Potter or any of J.K. Rowling's original characters**

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Harry Potter, only the original characters that I create.


End file.
